"Mr. Pym," he said, with dignity, "we are not here to discuss old grievances, but rather to prepare balm for present sores and to consider how to avoid opening of future wounds."
John Pym smiled sadly.
"It is all," he said, "in Your Majesty's hands."
"I think," answered the King, "that very little is left in my hands. Civil and religious authority is both assailed, and now you would arrest from me the power of the sword."
"The Parliament should have authority to choose Your Majesty's advisers and to control the army and the militia," said Pym.
"You try to force me into a corner," replied Charles, in a still voice. "But you say it is in my hands," he added, with an effort. "Tell me if there is any means you—and I—may pursue together."
John Pym knew as clearly as if Charles had put it into words that he was appealing for his help; he stood silent, waiting for the King to further reveal himself.
"You have had a long and laborious life, Mr. Pym," continued Charles, fingering the deep lace on his cuffs. "I could give you that ease and honour that bring repose."
"I am sorry Your Majesty said that," returned the commoner. "You must know that I am not a second Strafford to leave my party for royal bribes."
"You dare use that name to me!" blazed Charles, all his wrath and hatred, shame and pain, suddenly laid bare.